


Remember Me?

by Starry_Neko_Maid



Category: A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, More characters to come, More tags to be added, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Neko_Maid/pseuds/Starry_Neko_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phineas is reincarnated in the modern world with his old friends and classmates, but he's the only who remembers his past life. Despite this, he still enjoys the cards he's been handed. However, there's this one burning question... </p><p> </p><p>Where's Gene?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sudden Connection

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an idea that's been stuck with me since second semester, and I actually really like it. It's a 'Look for Gene' quest, but with some other things thrown in. First chapter is kind of crappy in my opinion, but enjoy.

The man leans back in the chair, steel eyes staring all of us down. A frown is forever plastered on his face, giving him that menacing intimidation.

"State your name and profession," he gruffly demands, analyzing us from head to toe.

The tall brunette to my left steps up first, a crazed smile that betrays the dull blue. "Elwin Lepellier, field specialist."

The man grunts. "Exactly... what do you do?"

"Map out the area, analyze the area, and all," the brunette states dully, waving a hand dismissively.

Steel eyes squint at Leper before shifting in his seat. "Next."

The black male on my right steps up, dreads swinging behind him. "Chet Douglass, information broker."

The old man sneers. "That explains that thing on our screens," he mutters.

The four of us snicker, shooting knowing glances at each other. The man clears his throat, earning all of our individual attention.

The auburn on my right talks a step forward, looking sleek as ever in the dull light. "Brinker Hadley, right hand man of the boss." His amber-brown eyes glint dangerously.

Then I took a step forward, grinning from ear to ear as I flip my hair out of my face. "My name is Phineas Separeace, and I'm the mafia boss of Devighs."

The man's steel eyes harden on my figure, probably assessing what my weaknesses and strengths are. "You look too young," he finally says, hand rubbing his stubbly chin. "Too reckless, too naive...."

"True..." I say, a finger over my pursed lips. "But you're forgetting...." I slam my hands on the metal table, rattling some things and making some fall on the concrete. "That I'm the one who turned your men on each other."

The man grunts in acknowledgement, steel eyes fixed on a disgusted look right at me. Displeasure must be running in his veins when I mentioned that one mafia fight. I looked like a regular that one night, full of cheer and fake information. I whispered the lying rumors to the men and women's ears, making each suspicious of the other. When the fight broke out, it took about ten to fifteen minutes for the people to turn on each other. My gang didn't even need to take a step into the field, because Forrester's took each other out. It was such a simple, easy victory with just a few rumoring lies.

"Yes, you did...." he mutters, standing up. He has probably about maybe a full two feet above me, making me arch my neck to look up at him. Damn tall people sometimes. "But I have no intentions to negotiate with the likes of you."

I immediately notice that he's hiding something, I can can see it in his steel eyes. His jaw is set, tense on thinking about protecting someone, maybe. I wet my lips. "And why not? Nearly all of your members are gone."

He smirks, leaning down to make a shadow come over me. "You're forgetting that I'm a Forrester. A forest is vast, acres filled with trees and wild animals."

What I didn't expect is to hear multiple clicks of hammers being off the safety switch. I must have visibly tensed if his smirk is growing on his unshaven face. "Shit," I muttered.

He pulls out his own handgun, and it's a rather pretty little thing. It looks like it's made of silver, intricate carvings decorate the entire gun, but that didn't catch my eye. In fancy cursive around the muzzle, I could make out _Raymond G. Forrester_. I could feel my breath get caught in my throat. Could it possibly be...? "Gene?" I gasp quietly. I could feel my team members' eyes giving questioning looks on my back.

Raymond scowls, placing the muzzle right on my forehead. "How the hell do you know that?" he growls, steel eyes beginning to burn holes into me.

"Know what?" I didn't know what he was talking about, but I had an inkling on what it is.

His scowl deepens, pulling the hammer back to get the gun out of safety mode. His jaw is set, arm tense, and his body is rigid. The air feels heavy as everyone seems to be in a stand still. What will Mr. Forrester do? Pull the trigger? I snicker mentally.

"None of your damn business bastard." He holds a gloved hand up, probably a signal for when to shoot and when not to. "Now, if you all want to make it out alive...." He flicks his gun briefly to the main exit and entrance. "I suggest you all leave.... Right now."

I could hear how guttural that growl is, truly meaning his threat. A frown replaced my shocked expression, clicking my tongue in displeasure. "Fine, we'll leave," I scowl, placing my finger on the side of the barrel. "If you agree to let my gang at least be able to get some of your weapons," I finish, pushing the gun to point at a wall.

Mr. Forrester scowls back. "None," he says.

"Half," I urge.

"A tenth."

"A third?"

"Seventh, and that's my final answer. Take it, or you can kiss your ass goodbye."

I sigh, scratching the back of my head. "Fine, a seventh. I expect the shipment to come by the end of next week." I turn on my heel, walking straight to the only door exit. "C'mon guys, let's head back. They are absolutely no fun."

My group gapes at me, probably wondering I gave up so easily. 'Phineas Separeace always gave a grand entrance, a fun fight, a playful negotiation, and an even better exit,' they would say. However, it's not that night. It's not our usual, mixed-plan night. No, it's a serious night. It's rare, but it only happens when part of my memory recalls something. The van ride is silent, where no one was talking to each other. Brinker is driving, while I sat in the passenger in deep thoughts. Raymond Gene Forrester is the mafia boss' name, and the last two names ring bells and alarms in my mind.

'Gene Forrester, eh? He must be connected to him. There is no doubt.' I grin behind my hand. 'Don't worry Gene, I'm almost there.'

When we arrived to our secret base, Brinker is the first one to talk after being held at standstill when we entered the main unit. "What the hell Phineas? What was that about?" he questions.

"What was what about?" I ask, grabbing a white book from the shelf. I plop down in my arm chair, opening to a random page.

"Don't play innocent _Separeace_ ," the auburn hisses, his pupils dilating. He slams a fist on the table, rattling some things. He's clearly angry, if his tone is saying anything.

I click my tongue, grabbing the white book to flip to the right page. An aged, black-and-white photo is clipped to one of the pages, revealing two boys. One is definitely me, because no one else had one huge bang covering their left eye back in the 1940s. Scrawled on the bottom of the picture, it says ' **Spring of 1942** ' in blue cursive writing. I lazily grin, fingering the familiar handwriting. The other boy is the same height as me, but his hair is darker with side-swept bangs. We seem to be trying to drag each other to the ground, but it seemed to be all in good fun.

In my own red handwriting, I scribbled things of what I could remember from the year 1942 and beyond. Near the picture, it said ' **Me and my best pal Gene** ' in my messy handwriting. I didn't pay attention to that, but the long paragraph is what I'm reading.

 

**Gene Forrester: 5'8.5" (Don't lie about your height), dark brown hair and eyes**

**So sarcastic, but always so worrisome about everything**

**Hard-working, studious, stick-in-the-mud**

**Best pal back in Devon Boarding School**

**Lived in Dixie, somewhere South from New Hampshire**

**Introverted, but I managed to always drag him along in my plans**

I smile as the memories of my past life flood back to me, but my mood is soon dampened by the next couple of sentences.

**Created The Super Suicide Society of the Summer Session with him**

**Knees bent when we attempted double jump**

**My leg shattered**

**We still roomed together**

**Apologized for probably everything after I fell down the stairs**

**I forgave him**

**Last words: "I believe you. It's okay because I understand and I believe you. You've already shown me and I believe you."**  

**Cause of Death: bone marrow blood flowed into veins, stopped heart.**

I scowl at that, angry that I died when we were almost to our graduation. That really sucks, but I wonder what Gene did after I died.

"It's another revelation about that Forrester kid, isn't it? The one that pushed you off the tree?" Chet's voice guesses, and I immediately snap my head towards him.

I groan, setting the book to the side. "He didn't push me off that tree. His knees bent. Get your facts right," I hiss, utterly annoyed how they still seem bent on making Gene the bad guy. "But yes, I had a revelation about him." I lean back into my chair, rubbing my eye. "I think Mafia Boss Forrester is connected to our lost introvert. You did see how tense he was when I mentioned the name."

Sets of eyes stare at me for a few minutes before Leper raised his hand. "I did see him tense. His arm seemed to move robotically when he threatened to kill us if we didn't leave," he said, crazed grin replaced with a bored frown.

I gesture to the tall brunette. "See?  Leper agrees with me!"

Chet walks up, adding his own analysis. "I also saw that in him when he refused to negotiate with us. It seems he might be protecting his family." He puts a cigarette in his mouth, pulling out a lighter too. "If he has one."

"Take it to the Butt Room Douglass. Don't want the office stinking up a storm in here," Brinker orders, heavy frown on his lips.

"I worry that your fatass will too," the ravenette mutters, igniting the lighter as he entered said room.

Leper giggles at that, who only grinned when the auburn male glared at him. I snort.

"Well, I can't lie about Brinker's ass," I begin, leaning forward to prop my elbows on top of my desk to place my chin on my folded hands.

"Separeace, don't you fucking _dare_ ," my right-hand man growls, glare intensifying on me.

I only grin. "Maybe you should go to the Butt Room too. I'm worried that Chet's right, so it's only fair neh?"

"Separeace, I swear to god, how the fuck are you our leader?" Brinker fumes, throwing his hands up in the air ~~like he just don't care~~. 

I shrug indifferently, looking down at the white pages filled with red. "Dad died. End of story," I mumble, flipping through the pages to find that familiar handwriting. The handwriting gave me some kind of relief, something that I can't entirely explain. I guess I miss him, my best pal Gene. I still think of him as my best friend, despite the cards handed to me in this life.

"So..."

I look up, swiping at my bang. "What?"

Leper lazily twirls his brown hair around his finger, blue eyes still dull. "Are we going to do something tomorrow or not? I'm starting to think you're losing your touch Finny."

I stare at the brunette, opening my mouth. Nothing comes out, but my brain is processing. "... Let's make a visit to the Zanes in the morning, and we'll go from there..."


	2. College Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A check-in with our favorite protagonist from A Separate Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm terrible with updating stuff. There's lack of motivation, writer's block, laziness, and some other things. Here's a second chapter with a slice of Gene's life as a college student.

' _And why you created this piece_?'

A cap of a blue pen taps at the wooden table as the owner worries his bottom lip with his teeth. How could you explain the reason of your creation? He's pretty sure he can't write- er, type this:

**I created this piece, because of a dream that seems like a distant memory.**

Yeah, as if the teacher is going to buy that. He groans, rubbing his temples. The college student wonders why he decided to add art to his education....

 _Hmmm_.....

Oh _right_....

His parents only accepted him to take two majors , because...

_In his choir experience, he often had to fight off the bullies in the group. Another time, he blew up the lab at a science camp... Or did he accidentally set it on fire? Hm, either way, he still was banned from going there ever again._

Also, he didn't destroy walls with those stress balls if he was venting through art.

…

…

...

Don't ask about the stress balls....

So, his parents agreed to his proposal, since it was probably the safest way to save money. Fixing walls is not cheap, especially if you find out that the wall isn't the only thing broken.

Tapping his fingers on his knee, his dark eyes began to dull as his mind slowly lost focus. He didn't like writing the art papers and couldn't think of a good reason for his creation, so his mind decided to take a little trip to his own 'world'.

His own 'world' consists of random memories and ideas, ranging from past to present. A past idea of an invention whizzes past him, creating a breeze. Another idea passes  him, but it only got a glance. Ideas continue to come and go, some quickly and some slowly. These abstract things are either for art or something else entirely. Soon, the idea tunnel filters into the random memory one. He sees one of his dad trying to teach him how to catch a baseball. Another twirls past him, revealing a cake with candles for an aging relative.

"Was the Uncle George? Or Grandpa... ?"

**"-Pink!"**

"... I'm pretty sure I had no grandpa called pink..."

Gene's mind self looks up, brows furrowing and confusion beginning to pool into his brown eyes. For some reason, this memory is way bigger than any of the others. It looks like a big screen showing a slice of a movie he probably watched at some point.

On the screen, it shows… Him??? Dark locks that could rival a raven’s, dark brown eyes that look like a deep abyss you can never escape, and unusually pale skin that made the word vampire pop into your head. Gene shakes his head, rubs his eyes, and looks up again. He stares before cursing loudly.

“That seriously can not be me!” he cries out.

 **“It makes you look like a fairy!”** ‘movie’ him accuses.

“... Who the fuck am I talking to?”

Suddenly, the ‘camera’ moves to a blonde male wearing a Baker-Miller Pink button-up shirt with long sleeves. The shirt is way too big on the blonde, almost covering the navy blue shorts. Gene’s mind self analyzes the strangely familiar, yet unfamiliar, boy. A single blue eye sparkles with disbelief, while the other eye is hidden by a curtain of beeline honey locks. The olive tan of the skin completes the general features of the young boy.

 **“Does it?”** the honey blonde questions, turning around to face a mirror above a dresser. He buttons the shirt all the way up, making Gene question if he’s going to suffocate himself. **“I wonder what would happen if I looked like a fairy to everyone,”** he muses, a goofy grin appearing on his olive face.

Gene’s mind and movie self scoff. _**“You’re nuts.”**_

“Are you calling me nuts?”

Reality immediately pulls the raven out of his own world, shock and confusion slapping him in the face. “Huh-wha?” A smile enters the raven’s line of vision, a chuckle almost escaping from their owner.

“I may be timid around strangers ‘nd all, but I’m not nuts.” A dark finger pokes the pale forehead of Gene’s gently. “‘Cause I don’t talk to myself.”

Crimson pink floods the art student’s cheeks as warmth spreads across his face. “Shut up Brownie,” he snaps, ducking his head in embarrassment.

His roommate laughs, reaching over the table to ruffle his dark locks. Slapping the hand away, Gene weakly glares at the male across from him.

“So, was that directed to me, or was that just you talking to yourself?” Brownie asks, sipping from his calamansi drink.

“Both,” is the reply.

The dark brunette pouts as he takes the paper under his fries to ball it up and throw it at his roommate. Gene yelps with a hey, swatting the paper ball away.

“Thought we were friends G-man,” Brownie grumbles, crossing his arms and turns away like a child being angry when something doesn’t go their way.

The indistinctive chatter of the people around them doesn’t do much as the art major stares at the architect major with disbelief. It takes a couple seconds for the smiles to slowly form on each of their faces before they begin to laugh. The brunette turns around to face the raven, high-fiving and fist-bumping the other.

“A’right, but seriously, was that to me?”

Gene shakes his head in reply, picking up the pen that slipped from his fingers when he was daydreaming. “Nah, I zoned off and had another random memory.”

“Oh?” Brownie takes two fries from his plate, throwing them into his mouth. “What about?”

The art major only shrugs. “First was my dad trying to teach me baseball.”

Suddenly grinning, the brunette points a burger at him. “Bet you kept missing the ball,” he says, before taking a bite.

“Shut it you oaf,” the raven playfully protests, whacking his roommate with his water bottle. “Then there was the birthday of one of my grandpas.”

“Was he turning eighty or somethin’?”

“Don’t know, but I was trying to remember his name.”

Dark brows shoot up in expectancy. “Did you?”

“No, but I did get another one of _those_ memories.”

 _Those_ memories are the ones that included these other boys he couldn’t recognize, yet they seem so familiar. The only one he’s able to recognize is Brownie, yet the architect doesn’t remember meeting him until the first day they moved into the college dorm. Yet, there’s always one boy that kept popping up no matter what…

“Was blondie in it again?” the brunette asks, washing the burger down with calamansi.

Gene nods, moving his free hand into his hair and tapping his pen against the wooden table. “Yeah, he was wearing some pink shirt this time.”

Brownie leans forward a bit, continuing to eat his food.

“I was in it too, but I don’t remember meeting him ever in my entire life,” the raven adds, scratching his head. “For some reason, we- I was kind of protesting against the color of the shirt. Saying he looked like a fairy.”

“Did he have a tutu and wings?”

The art major briefly grins. “Shut it, he didn’t.”

“Aw, kinda was hoping he was. It be a _great_ Halloween costume for him.”

“We’re not even done with the spring semester Brownie.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’.” Said male leans back in his chair, his half-burger in hand. “From what you’ve been telling me about ‘im, he sounds like he’s willing to defy _everything_ about men.”

Gene snorts, reaching for some of the fries. “Ok, hold up man.” He pops some into his mouth. “I don’t think he can defy _everything_ , but maybe the whole pink-is-for-gay-men-and-girls is the idea.”

Brownie nods. “Ok, I get that, but there’s a problem with that.”

The art major raises a brow, dark eyes squinting. “And what will that be?”

“You’re talking about the time of Hitler. You know, how he made pink to identify the gays or something?” The idea doesn’t penetrate his roommate’s thick skull, making him sigh. “You’re saying you lived in the 40s or somethin’. You would be like over seventy or dead.”

The raven scowls. “ _Hey_ , I can take care of myself.”

“Who was the one who had to bring you to the outside for food and shit?” the brunette reminds.

“...”

“And the one who had to make sure you took showers regularly?”

“...”

“And the one who made sure you went to the bathroom.”

“.... You….” Gene mumbles defeatedly, slumping in his seat.

Brownie nods triumphantly, pushing his leftover fries to his friend. “And the one who makes sure you eat.”

Gene gives a small smile. “Thanks man,” he whispers, grabbing two to nibble.

“Welcome. Now, what’s bothering you?”


	3. Meet the Zanes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet up with the family that deals with the shipping for the Devighs Mafia!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry for the VERY long hiatus for this fic. I had terrible writer's block and had new ideas that I couldn't postpone. So, I hope you all like this un-beta chapter that took about a few months or so to type up.

Finny and the gang wait for someone to open the back door of the shop in the early hours of the morning. It's still a bit dark, because...

"Did we have to go in like two in the _fucking_ morning?" Brinker growls, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Chet rolls his eyes, stamping out his cigarette. "Quit being a baby. I had the late night _and_ early morning shift, so you can't complain," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

"Wait, wasn't it Leper's turn for that shift?" the auburn male questions, eyes confused as he pointed to said man.

Upon hearing his name, the brunette lifts his head up from the ground. "A shit ton of 5 Hour Energy can do wonders!" he whispers loudly, before he turned back to the burrow he was peering into.

Brinker stares at the information broker in disbelief, wondering why the hell their field specialist is on the ground looking into a hole. He voiced his thoughts, but was rudely cut off by harsh shushing from the male.

“You’ll scare the mice!” Leper hisses, glaring at the auburn before turning back to the burrow. “Here~, mousey, mousey,” he cooes.

Brinker pinches the bridge of his nose. How the hell did this guy get on the team?

“Aw, leave him alone Brinker,” Finny says, crossing his arms as he watched the brunette amusedly. “It’s been too long since we were out in nature like this.”

“More like in a horribly maintained yard,” he grumbles, kicking a stray rock. “Besides, what’s taking the idiot so long? He should be here by now.”

Finny shrugs, lifting his fist again. “If he doesn’t answer, we’ll come back tomorrow.” Before the blonde’s knuckles meet the door, it quickly opened as a cloud of white is thrown in the Devighs Mafia’s faces. Finny, Chet, and Brinker cough violently as they scrunched their eyes shut and swatted the particles away. Leper just looks up curiously, gently petting his new found mouse friend.

“Huh, looks like someone doesn’t like people… Huh MooMoo…” Leper mutters, watching his teammates choke on the cloud. The mouse squeaks in response, scratching its head.

As soon as the white cloud dissipates, a metal tube hits the three on the head with three loud thunks. Leper flinches. “Oo~ that’s gonna leave a mark…” he comments. MooMoo squeaks in agreement.

“ **THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM MAN!?** ” Chet exclaims, squatting with his hands holding his head.

“ **THAT FUCKING _HURTS_!** ” Brinker screams, cursing.

Finny only groans, head against the wall. This dude took strong hits to their heads, so hopefully they don’t get concussions.

“ _Look_ , I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure as _hell_   I ain’t gonna get robbed and killed today!”

That actually sounds like a lady.

“Uh ma’am…” Finny attempts to interrupt, but the person dangerously swung the tube close to him.

“Don’t you go _‘ma’am’ing_ me you scumbags!” she growls. “Now scram before I use the-”

“Mom, you just hit our early morning customers.”

The Lord must have seen their suffering, because He has sent an angel to save them. The woman turns her ahead to look behind her, seeing her son leaning against the doorway.

“That’s extremely rude you know,” he adds, blowing a bubble.

The woman gasps, hastily putting away the tube. “I’m _**SO**_ sorry,” she gasps, moving the weapons from the doorway to the closet. “I didn’t think you would come in so early,” she explains, gesturing the boys to get inside. “Come in, come in. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Before she can utter another apology, Finny simply told her that they weren’t hurt… that much ( _that was such a lie, but he didn’t want to hear another string of apologies from the poor woman._ )

Brinker had to bring Leper in the building by pulling on his collar, grumbling as the others trailed after Ms. Zane. The group went up to the second floor of the building, the Devighs Mafia wondering what could be up there.

“Welcome to the second floor of the Zany Store!” Mrs. Zane’s son announces, gesturing to what looks like a living room/kitchen/dining area combo. “Or as I would call it, home.”

“Didn’t know you actually lived above your store Bobby,” Finny comments, jumping onto the couch. “Looks cozy though!”

Mrs. Zane calls out to them, asking if they wanted any drinks and/or snacks. Bobby just calls out an affirmative, sheepishly smiling at the Devighs members. Finny reassures him that it’s fine when he apologized, smiling fondly at the high schooler. Chet joins the leader on the old couch, Brinker sits in an arm chair, while Leper sits on the floor near the coffee table to place MooMoo on it.

“Not my store. My parents’,” Bobby corrects, brown eyes shining. “Though, I’m flattered you think so.”

Chet brings out a cigarette and lighter, about to light up the stick, but an olive hand immediately snatches the lighter out of the information broker’s hand. Chet growls.

“‘Ey, give it here,” he demands, holding out a hand to Bobby.

Said male shakes his head, brushing his black hair away from his eyes as he gave the black male a disapproving look. “That poison is going to kill you when you’re like twenty or something,” he explains, throwing the lighter into the recycling. He tries to pluck the cancer stick out of the older male’s mouth, but his wrist was caught before he could.

“You're getting me a new one _brat_ ,” Chet growls, tightening his grip.

Bobby flinches, biting his lip.

“Chet, let go,” Finny orders, sighing. “He’s just looking out for you.”

“Doesn’t mean he could take my shit and throw it away!”

The blonde gently grabs the hand Chet’s using to hold onto Bobby’s wrist, his visible eye softening. “He barely knows us Chet. I would do that too if we’re only acquaintances, so…” He stares into the black man’s dark eyes with firm determination and a plea. “Please take it easy on him.” He squeezes the information broker’s hand to finish his act.

Chet stares hard at his leader, searching for anything that could contradict the blonde. He finds none and begins to slowly loosen his hold on the raven-haired Zane.

It’s weird how one of the strongest mafia bosses in America could be this soft and understanding. Usually, they were cold and rarely gave mercy. An exception in the mafia world, Phineas ‘Finny’ Separeace was always seen as a bubbly, spontaneous person no matter what until something sour happens to him or anyone that he holds close to him. He actually shows how much fun he’s having when mafia fights occur, laughing and making new rules as the games went.

It’s so strange, but neither of the other members could imagine their boss as a cold-hearted, serious person. It would be so… un-Finny like…

“Fine,” Chet sighs, letting go. Bobby immediately starts to gently massage his wrist, his eyes flicking between the information broker and the forming bruise. He grimaces when the older male reaches out to him.

“Hey, uh…” Chet quickly glances at his leader, wanting a confirmation. Finny gives him the ‘seriously do it’ look, expectantly waiting for the action. The black male sighs, running a hand nervously through his dreads. He’s not used to doing these kinds of things. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that Bobby… Um, didn’t mean it so…”

“That was so half-assed, Douglass,” Brinker comments, leaning his cheek into his hand. “You can do better than that.” The auburn male smirks despite the glare he’s given.

“Fucking hate your fatass,” Chet hisses quietly before hesitantly meeting Bobby’s brown gaze. “Look just… Don’t take my stuff without asking and shit. I understand your concern, but I control my decisions not you. Got it?”

The raven nods, eyes widening when the older male held out a hand.

“I am sorry for hurting you though. Forgive?”

Bobby smiles, taking the hand. “And forget.”

A firm shake before Chet deadpans. “Though, you still owe me a new lighter.”

The raven-haired male furrows his brows, pursing his lips. “I can get it from the recycling. It’s not like-”

“ _I ain’t having no dirty shit on my person._ ” The information broker lets go, staring at the younger male seriously. “If it’s already in the trash, then leave it in the trash…”

“Unless it’s totally a treasure!” Leper calls out as MooMoo squeaked.

Brinker rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you still had a ton of fluid in there Doug.”

Chet waves a hand at the right-hand man of their leader. giving a ‘really?” look. “That shit’s old son. Had it for like a few years.”

“Then that was a totally good reason to recycle it!”

The raven flinches when the information broker glared at him. “You didn’t know until now, so _shut it_.”

Bobby nods with a hint of fear. Finny sighs, gently facepalming his forehead. “Chet, seriously, quit it. You’re scaring the poor thing.”

Said man grumbles, leaning into the couch with crossed arms. Honestly, he feels like he’s been the main target for today. Leper decides to try to cheer up the high schooler by putting MooMoo the mouse on his head. Apparently, the younger male practically jumped away from the brunette, clearly spooked when he felt the tiny claws of the critter on his head.

“ _Holy shit, when did you get there?_ ” Bobby gasps, brown eyes wide.

Leper blinks owlishly, blue eyes staring back innocently. “Was here the whole time.” He pets MooMoo on the head with his index finger. “Was playing with MooMoo quietly, so…” The duo continue to stare at each other before the field specialist holds the mouse to Bobby. “Wanna hold MooMoo?”

Brinker snickers, while Finny smiles fondly at the scene. Chet’s just being… sulky… A small smile slowly forms on Bobby’s lips before he said yes. He holds out his hands, letting the little mouse run from Leper’s to his. He cooes, gently petting the mouse as his mother comes in with the snacks and drinks.

“I brought snacks!” she announces.

Finny wonders what took her so long, considering it shouldn’t be too hard to grab a bunch of chips and drinks to give to the guests. As Mrs. Zane sets down the tray, she catches the blonde’s questioning stare, only responding with a knowing smile. As the others grabbed whatever food there was, Mrs. Zane went to tell her son something, but upon seeing the mouse, she screamed. She proceeded to yell at Bobby about how filthy the critter is and germs and how disgusting-

“Sweetheart, yelling won’t do nicely to children.”

All of them turn their heads towards a doorway that possibly leads to the bedrooms and bathrooms, seeing a rather short man with a moustache. Mrs. Zane splutters an explanation, but the man wasn’t having it.

“You have insulted a person’s pet,” he states, gesturing to a Leper halfway standing and sitting to probably lecture the woman about treating his animal friends.

Finny didn’t notice, considering he was going to calm the woman down.

“That, and yelling will have a negative effect on our son.” The man places a calloused hand on top of Bobby’s head. “He will shut down and will think negatively about himself.”

Mrs. Zane looks like she was going to have a counterargument, but that statement made her mouth glue shut. Her brown eyes look between her husband and son, then to the mafia gang for a couple of times before giving up.

“I’ll be in our room,” she says, walking into the hallway the man came from.

Upon hearing the door shut, the man sighs. “I’m so sorry about my wife. Doesn’t want anything from the street in this part of the building.” He turns to the confused mafia gang. “Mr. Zane, the one behind all of your weapon shipments,” he says.

Brinker snaps his fingers before pointing at the man. “ _You-!_ You were the one I was talking on the phone last night about the Forrester mafia!”

The man chuckles. “That is right.” He pulls a chair from the dining table, sitting with his arms propped onto the back. “So, we _may_ have a problem with the getting of that fifth shipment from Forrester’s chosen company for weapons.”

All except Leper and Bobby groan, sinking into the furniture with exasperation.

“What is it _now_?” Brinker demands, not wanting to deal with problems for shipments again. They were pains in the ass to deal with, and it’s usually the auburn that had to deal with them when the other members couldn’t, wouldn’t, or were not completely trained.

“Please tell me it’s not another transaction thing. ‘Cause I don’t like dealing with money in those kinds of situations,” Chet pleads, the familiar ache behind his eyes forming. “I’m more for hacking for fuck’s sake,” he adds

“Don’t jinx it dude!” Finny scolds, a frown and green glare on his face when he slaps the information broker’s arm.

“Unfortunately, it is,” Mr. Zane responds, a tired look in his eyes.

“Goddammit!” Brinker blurts, slamming his fist against the arm of the chair. “I even spoke with the bastard about this! What the hell!?”

“Bring it down a notch Brink,” Finny sighs, pushing his blonde hair out of his face to reveal his left eye. He stares at the short man that runs their shipping with green and blue imploring eyes. Honestly, he’s tired of having to deal with these kinds of things. Back in the 1940s, the blonde didn’t even need to worry about money and shipping. His parents paid for everything, and the postal service was way more reliable than this era’s. “Now, what’s the hold up?”

Mr. Zane wets his lips. “They want the secret code. Did Mr. Forrester tell you about it?”

Silence engulfs the room as all turned to a wide-eyed auburn. The tension breaks when he clenches his teeth and fist with hardening eyes.

 **  
**“ _ **That fucking asshole…**_ ” he seethes **.**


	4. Preservation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond Gene Forrester was looking forward for a quiet morning, but...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM BACK AFTER TWO YEARS! I am so sorry for leaving this for so long, but I have not had any inspiration for this fic in a long time. I decided to finally break the hiatus, even though this is a relatively short chapter. Sorry about that, but it's better than waiting for another billion years. Also, heads up, I'm probably going to leave this for a while since my fire for A Separate Peace has significantly diminished, but hopefully, I can get back into way sooner than two years.
> 
> Also a GINORMOUS thank you for those who left comments on the chapter that I had asked for some help. I still have those and will consider them for incoming chapters.

Raymond G. Forrester was actually, for millionth time in his life, having a pensive morning. On his back porch, his backyard stretched about half the size of his house plot before melding into a forest of tall birches. Birch wasn’t his favorite of the trees, preferring sequoias for the height and sturdiness. Though, his only son had loved the look of the birch forest.

It was the main reason why he and his wife decided on this place. If anyone asked why he chose this place, he wouldn’t be afraid to admit that it was the forest. The mafia boss leaned back in his chair, appreciatively sipping on his black coffee. Being a mafia boss was tiring, especially when he had to deal with other mafias.

He had done countless nights of strategizing on how to beef up security in more ways than one after the Devighs decided to crash into his main base. He had lost sleep, leading up to unsavory days, and it frustrated him when he did something he did not meant. One of the reasons being last night’s call with the mafia boss of Devighs’ right hand-man.

_He had just updated his weapon inventory and such when an angry call from one of the members of the Devighs Mafia. Rubbing his eyes, he picked up, gruffly answering._

_“This is the Forrester residence, Raymond speaking.” He glanced at the clock. A good half hour or so until the nightly skype call with his son._

_“You goddamn Forrester,” the voice on the other line hissed._

_He furrowed his brows. Checking the caller ID, it only provided the city and state. God, if it was one of the mafia gangs… He sighed heavily, adjusting himself on his seat. “Who is this?” he demanded._

_“This is Brinker from Devighs, and you got some explaining to do fucker.”_

_Oh sweet Jesus… Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered why did the supernatural beings did this to him, and before his skype call. Oh how he hated the world right now._

_“What about?” he sighed._

_“You never told me about a fucking secret code!”_

_Oh. That. He had always subconsciously inputted the secret code, so he never gave any thought about it._

_“A secret code?” If that was preventing them from getting their shipment, should he really be doing this? How bad will the repercussions be if he does this? He sat up a little bit. “Hm, I’ll look into that.”_

_There was a pause. “I swear to fucking god, if you’re fucking pretending, I’m going to go over there myself and slit your goddamn throat bastard. You better give me that code asshole.”_

_The line went dead._

His next move was unsure. Play the forgetful, old man card, or play the safe card. If he played the former, then he may put his family at risk, because he knew mafias do many things to get what they want, and they won’t hesitate to get low and dirty.  He didn’t want that to happen to his wife and only son.

Especially his only son. He knew Gene was a bit of a troublesome child, but his mental state wasn’t exactly sound. Gene had always spaced out from time to time during childhood, but it had gotten worse over the years. He had began to mumble to himself by the time he was in third grade, and it had worried his teachers.

He had also tended to have breathless nights, waking up in a bewildered sweat. They were not nightmares, but Gene had described to him as dreams that show what he was in the past. They had died down, but now it had always happened during the times he spaced out. It tended to range from ten minutes to long hours, and it only made him and his wife worried.

Raymond was worried about that slim chance that Devighs might find Gene in that state and kidnap him. It was silly, because Gene had gotten better on not falling into that spaced out, not quite there state. But sometimes those states can lead him to harmful venting, his subconsciousness taking the reins until he was snapped back to reality.

It didn’t help that leader of Devighs knowing his son’s name. Raymond had worked tedious hours to hide his personal life.

  
He wasn’t going to stop that streak, especially now.


End file.
